Sleepovers
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Set after the events of After Hours. Moving On is dead to me.
1. Chapter 1

The morning after his surgery, Cuddy went to check in on House, just as Wilson was leaving his room.

"How is he?" Cuddy said.

"Emotionally? God only knows," Wilson said. "Physically? Feeling no pain. He's completely high on morphine right now. It's actually kind of adorable."

Cuddy peered into the room. House's entire team—Taub, Chase, Foreman, and Thirteen—were huddled around his bed, all smiles.

"What the hell is going on in there?" she asked.

"They can't get enough of blissed out House," Wilson said, chuckling. "I think he just told Taub he loved him."

Cuddy shook her head, barged into the room.

"Okay, party's over," she said.

They looked up at her.

"It's Cuddy!" House said merrily.

"I want to talk to Dr. House alone," she said.

"Yeah, she wants to talk to me alone!" House repeated. "Go away! Shoo!"

The team all got up. "Feel better, boss," Thirteen said, touching his arm.

"I love you, too, man," Taub said with a small giggle. Chase flicked him on the back of the head.

When they were gone, House looked up at Cuddy, smiled beatifically.

"I have two legs," he said.

"Yes, you do."

"You saved me."

"Yeah."

"You're nice," he sighed.

"Thanks House. You're not so bad yourself."

"I like your face," he said.

"Thank you again," she said, suppressing a laugh. "How's the leg feel?"

"Fantastic," he grinned.

"Good."

He looked up at her.

"Remember when you were my girlfriend?" he said dreamily. "That was nice."

"It definitely had its moments," she said, brushing some hair off his face. She could see why Wilson and the team were so delighted by him. "Listen House, duty calls. But I promise I'll check back with you later."

"Ha, ha. You said duty."

#####

She went to visit him the next day and he was himself again, obviously off the morphine.

"I didn't think you'd show," he said when he saw her.

"I came to visit you yesterday," she said. "You don't remember?"

"No. Apparently, they have really good drugs around this hospital."

They exchanged a look.

"How do you feel, House ?"

"Two-legged, thanks to you," he said.

"You already thanked me yesterday," she said.

"Well this is a thank you I'll remember. I'm sorry I dragged you and Rachel out of bed with my reckless and appallingly idiotic behavior and I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you both did for me."

"Wow," she said. "That was downright. . . mature."

"I'm turning over a new leaf," he said. "Wilson gave me a motivational pep talk."

"What did he say?"

"That I was a fuck-up and needed to get my shit together. It was very inspiring. . ."

"Well, good. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You can," he said. He grabbed her hand. She stiffened just the tiniest bit.

"You can forgive me," he said, looking up at her.

"House. . .I can't. . . I don't. . ." She glanced at the door for a second, feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't mean get back together. That's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying forgive me. So we can be friends again."

Funny, friends is the last thing I want us to be, he had said to her once, a lifetime ago.

"I'd like that," she said.

"So would I," he said.

She glanced at the table beside his bed, saw the letter Rachel had dictated.

"I see you got Rachel's letter," she said.

"I read it once. . . or 25 times. Can you tell her how much it cheered me up?"

"I will," she said.

"Thanks Cuddy. And thanks for raising such a cool little human."

#######

The thing was, she and House didn't actually know how to be friends with each other, did they? They could do flirting, they could do hostility, they could do sex, they could even do love. But friends? How on earth did they do that?

And it was while grappling with this dilemma that Cuddy found herself in the unfamiliar position of inviting House to a cocktail party she was throwing.

"I'm having this little get together Friday night," she said. "I'd love it if you came. No pressure."

"Are you inviting me because you genuinely want me there or because you're afraid I'd find out about the party after the fact and be hurt?"

She thought about it for a second.

"A little bit of both," she said.

"Is Wilson coming?"

"Negative. He's got that thing."

"Oh yeah. DJ Jazzy Jim."

(Wilson had taken to running karaoke night once a month at the Princeton Senior Center.)

"Right. You'll know some of the guests, though. Brennan and Sullivan, from the hospital. And remember the Oldenburgs? The couple we had dinner with that night?"

House remembered it all too well. It had been one of his ill-advised attempts at proving to Cuddy that he could be a normal boyfriend in a normal relationship. He had been mostly quiet and fidgety during dinner and they fought on the ride home.

"Couldn't you have at least made an attempt?" she had complained. "You act like I forced you to have dinner with Jed and Daisy Mae Clampett. Bob's a Harvard MBA and Ruth is a philosophy professor at Rutgers."

"They were boring," House had said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I prefer to just spend my evenings with you."

"Well, I like to have a crazy little thing called a social life, so try harder next time," she said, pulling her hand away.

Needless to say, they never had dinner with the Oldenburgs again.

"I remember them," he said now. "Can I think about the party?"

"Of course. In fact, you can just show up. You don't even have to RSVP. Party starts at 8."

He gave a small, grateful smile.

"Thanks."

#######

"You wore a tie!" she said.

She wasn't sure which was more surprising: The fact that he had actually shown up for her little cocktail party or that he was all dressed up.

"This will be a first," she said, tightening his knot and smoothing his tie. "You might actually be the best-dressed man at this party."

House peered in. Most of the male guests were wearing polo shirts and loafers.

He braced himself, entered.

"Oh yeah . . . here," he said, shoving a bottle of wine at her.

Cuddy took it, trying not to act too amused. The tie, the wine. It was all too much.

The doorbell rang.

"Okay, you know the drill," Cuddy said. "Booze and wine over there. Food there. And, of course, door behind you. I will not blame you if you beat a hasty retreat. I'm impressed that you came at all."

"I'm a big boy," House said. "I can handle a party."

"Okay, if you say so. I'll find you later."

But she was right. The party was its own special ring of hell.

Half the people didn't know that House and Cuddy had broken up and were asking him things like "when are you going to make an honest woman out of her?" and "are you guys getting away this summer?" Then, there were those who knew that they were broken up and couldn't quite figure out what House was doing there (House was beginning to wonder the same thing himself.) There were the inevitable handful of guests who used House's presence to solve some long vexing medical problem ("I get this rash on my hand whenever it rains. . .") and then there were those who didn't like House, never had, and wanted nothing to do with him.

Exhibit A: Julia Cuddy.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

"Nice to see you, too, Julia," House said.

"Seriously. I thought she was finally done with you."

"We're trying to be friends. I'm told that's the mature thing to do."

"So . . .what? You're just trying to ingratiate your way back into her life by showing up at her parties?"

"Yes, that's it! You got me! Also. . .she invited me."

"I heard about your little suicide-by-self-surgery attempt. You're such a healthy influence on Rachel. . ."

"And you are a veritable Florence Nightingale of compassion and warmth . . ."

"Having fun, guys?"

It was Cuddy, materializing at his side, smiling. She slipped her arm protectively around House's waist.

Julia took a sip of her drink.

"Great party, sis!" she said cheerfully.

House side-eyed her.

"Yes. . . wonderful," he said.

"Good! Julia, I need some help in the kitchen if you don't mind . . ."

Julia turned back to House.

"Absolutely. I look forward to continuing this conversation at a later date."

"I'm counting the minutes," said House.

Had Cuddy intentionally rescued him? Or was it just good timing? Either way, he had little time to feel relieved, because Ruth Oldenburg was standing next to him, handing him a drink.

She was pretty, in a hippie-professor kind of way. She let her hair gray naturally, which he didn't actually mind. It was long and wavy.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," she said.

"I work in mysterious ways," he said, taking the drink. "Nice to see you, Ruth."

"You too. Nice tie."

"Thanks."

"So does this mean you guys are back together?"

"No. . .just doing the dreaded 'friends' thing," House said.

"And you're not seeing anyone else?" Ruth said.

"Umm, no."

"We should go get a drink one night," she said suggestively.

"Ruth. . .not only are you a married woman, but your husband is standing about 15 feet away from us. In fact, he's waving at us right now."

House gave a half-hearted wave back.

"Please. You think he doesn't cheat? Our marriage is based on the philosophy of 'don't ask, don't tell.'"

"That's been repealed, by the way."

"I always thought you were super sexy, House."

House didn't quite know how to respond to that. He looked around the room for an escape route. Cuddy was enmeshed in a lively conversation with a group of friends.

"Excuse me, my pager just went off. . ." he lied.

"I didn't hear anything," she said.

"It's on vibrate."

"Well, here's my number," she said, slipping a folded piece of paper into his trouser pocket. Her hand dug a little too deeply into his pants. "I hope you consider my proposal."

"I'll undoubtedly think of little else."

#######

The crowd had thinned out significantly and House was nowhere to be found. Cuddy must not have noticed when he left. Still, he had toughed it out longer than she expected. That conversation with Julia couldn't have been pleasant. And geez, Ruth Oldenburg was practically undressing him with her eyes.

She stood on her doorstep and waved goodnight to the last of her guests. The house was empty now, almost eerily quiet. She started to straighten up, then decided that it could wait until morning. She was exhausted, and a little drunk.

She poked her head into Rachel's room. What she saw was unexpected: There was House, sitting on the floor next to Rachel's crib, sound asleep.

Rachel was asleep, too, in her crib, but her face was where her feet would normally be. Her head was so close to his, they were practically touching through the slats of the crib.

Cuddy lightly shook House's shoulder.

His eyes fluttered open.

She put her finger to her lips, gestured toward her upside-down sleeping daughter.

House got up slowly, grabbed his cane, which he had hooked to the edge of Rachel's crib.

"Sorry," he said, when they had stepped out of the nursery. "I guess I fell asleep."

He looked around the empty living room.

"Party's over, huh?" he said, stretching.

"Yeah. . .how long were you in there?"

"I . . .heard Rachel crying so I went in to check on her," he lied.

"You woke her up, didn't you?"

"I. . .just wanted to talk to somebody I actually liked," he admitted.

Cuddy shook her head, but laughed despite herself.

"What do you two talk about anyway?"

"Important stuff. Pirates. Pet rats. Gross things people eat."

"She misses you," Cuddy said.

"I miss her, too." House said, looking at Cuddy. "More than she can possibly know."

You're just friends, Cuddy thought. Just friends. You definitely do not want to kiss him right now.

"I'm glad you came," she said, snapping out of it.

"Me too," he said.

"And they thought this friendship wouldn't last!" she joked.

"What do they know?" he said. "And who exactly are they anyway?"

"Goodnight, House," she said, opening the door.

"Goodnight, Cuddy."

She watched him limp to his car and pull away.


	2. Chapter 2

Cuddy was awakened by the sensation of a 3-year-old poking her repeatedly in the arm.

She popped open an eye.

"Rachel, why are you awake so early?"

Rachel picked up the alarm clock and waved it in front of her mother's face.

Ugh. 7:30. Cuddy had overslept.

"Sorry sweetie. I'll make you breakfast."

Cuddy sat up, tried to get her eyes to focus.

"Where's Howse?" Rachel demanded.

"House?"

This was so not what she needed right now.

"Where'd he go?"

"He's not here, sweetie," Cuddy said.

"Why?"

"Remember what we talked about? How House and mommy don't have sleepovers anymore?"

"Why?"

Rachel was going through a challenge-everything-mommy-said phase. It was especially fun to deal with first thing in the morning.

"Because there are all different kinds of friends. Some friends are sleepover friends and some friends aren't."

The words sounded insipid coming out of her mouth, but what else could she say?

"Why?" she said stubbornly.

"Why what?"

"Why isn't Howse your sleepover friend?"

Cuddy needed coffee. Gallons and gallons of coffee, perhaps administered intravenously.

"Because friendships change. That doesn't mean House doesn't still love you, Rach. And that doesn't mean that you don't still love him."

Rachel looked pensive.

"Can Howse be my sleepover friend?" she asked.

Cuddy almost laughed.

"No, he can't. Grownups and children can't be sleepover friends."

Cuddy watched Rachel's face begin to screw up in consternation. She knew that face well. She was about 10 seconds from a complete meltdown.

"Who wants to help mommy make chocolate chip pancakes?" Cuddy said brightly.

"I do! I do!"

"Okay, I'll race you to the kitchen."

Rachel scrambled out of the bedroom.

Dodged a bullet.

######

All day, Cuddy found herself thinking about how House had escaped her party to seek sanctuary in Rachel's nursery.

As annoyed as she had been that he had disrupted Rachel's slumber—and Rachel had been a sleep-deprived pain in the ass all day—she was touched by it, too. How could she not be?

When she and House first started dating, Cuddy used to obsess over it: Was House capable of loving her child? Heck, was he even capable of liking her child?

The first time House acknowledged he wanted to be in Rachel's life, it wasn't because he had any genuine interest in getting to know her. It was simply because, on the most practical level, he realized that a relationship with Cuddy was unsustainable if he didn't find a way to co-exist with her daughter. (How many men would confess to such ambivalence toward a girlfriend's child? One, basically.)

And at first, not surprisingly, Rachel seemed to irritate House more than delight him—she was always biting his cane or smearing food on him or trying, loudly, to get his attention.

But there was a perceptible shift, it happened right around the time that Rachel was applying to Waldenwood. There was a new closeness between them, a secret bond of sorts. And it wasn't just for Cuddy's sake. On several occasions, Cuddy would stumble across House and Rachel having a private moment—laughing together in her room or having an inside joke at the dinner table. She even saw House give Rachel a kiss on the top of her head one time, for no apparent reason.

The truth was, House didn't really like other people . It was one of the many things that put extra pressure on their relationship. ("I prefer to just spend my evenings with you," he had said that night after their doomed dinner with the Oldenburgs.) There were only a handful of people in this world that House could actually tolerate, let alone want to spend quality time with. As far as she could tell, that number currently stood at three: Herself, Wilson, and her 3-year-old little girl.

#######

When the doorbell rang that night at 8 pm, she didn't even bother looking through the peephole to answer it. Ruth Oldenberg had left her reading glasses behind last night and said she would probably swing by to pick them up.

But it wasn't Ruth Oldenberg. It was House. Holding a toolbox.

"Hi," Cuddy said, puzzled.

"Hi," he said back.

"What are you doing here?"

House gestured to the toolbox.

"I noticed a you had a leaky faucet in the guest bath. I thought I'd fix it."

Cuddy laughed, somewhat derisively.

"Not happening."

"Why not?" House said.

"Because. . . Let's see. It's 8 o clock on a Saturday night and you just happened to drop by to fix my faucet?"

"That pretty much sums it up."

"This is exactly what Julia said you would do," Cuddy said. She and Julia had had a long, not entirely pleasant conversation about House earlier that day over the phone.

"Do what?"

"Burrow. Her exact word was burrow. She said, 'House is going to try to burrow his way back into your life, like a hedgehog or a mole.'"

"She's my number one fan!" House said.

"And yet not completely wrong," Cuddy countered.

House gave her a stubborn look, similar to the one Rachel had given her this morning.

"I thought you said you wanted to be friends," he said.

"I do," Cuddy said reluctantly.

"So can't one friend help another friend with a leaky faucet?"

"Not without calling first," Cuddy said.

"Wilson never minds when I show up without calling. Which is, like, always."

Of course. Wilson. The ultimate enabler.

"I'm not Wilson," Cuddy said.

"I'm well aware of that," House said, giving her a slightly naughty smile.

"I was going to call a plumber on Monday," Cuddy said, knowing it was futile.

"That's ridiculous," House said. "I'm here now. Why not consider us friends with benefits? Only in this case, the benefit is I'm fixing your faucet."

God, he was exasperating.

"Alright come in."

"Thank God," he said, stepping inside. He looked around the living room. "Where's the rug rat?"

"She's asleep. Somebody kept her up way past her bedtime last night," Cuddy said.

"Scoundrel!" he joked. "Oh well, tell her I said hi. I'll try not to make too many loud grunts while I'm fixing the faucet."

Cuddy gave him a skeptical look.

"House, do you even know how to fix a leaky faucet?"

"Of course. I'm a man, baby! We come out of the womb knowing how to do these things."

"And are you sure it's a wise idea for you to be crawling all over the floor with your leg?"

"I think we both know that I've done more than fair share of crawling all over the floor of this house."

She had clearly stepped into that one.

"Alright, go at it Bob the Builder. Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have tons of leftovers from last night."

"Do you have any of those Cuban sandwiches left?"

"Yes."

"And maybe a glass of red wine?"

"Coming right up."

######

By the time she brought him his sandwich and his wine, House had already disassembled her entire faucet. There were pieces of pipe and rusty screws and stoppers everywhere. She didn't remember the real plumber making such a mess last time he was over.

"Here ya go," she said. She put the wine and the sandwich on the floor next to him.

He slid out from under the sink and sat up, leaning against the door.

"Thanks."

Cuddy sat on the toilet bowl and watched him eat. He had taken off his Oxford blue shirt and was wearing a short-sleeved white T-shirt. She'd always had a thing for House's arms.

She flashed back to her conversation earlier that day with Julia. "You can't be friends because you're still attracted to him," Julia had said.

"That's ridiculous," Cuddy had scoffed. But suddenly she wasn't so sure.

"You're not having anything to drink?" House asked her.

"No. . .I overindulged last night," Cuddy replied. This was true, but not the entire reason she wasn't drinking.

"It was a good party," House said, taking a gulp of wine.

"You were miserable," Cuddy laughed.

"I didn't say I enjoyed it. I said it was a good party. Empirically speaking, people seemed to be having a good time."

"While you were hiding out in Rachel's room."

"Where I was having a good time," he said.

"She asked about you," Cuddy said. "This morning."

House perked up a bit.

"What did she say?"

"She wanted to know where you were. She's still not completely clear on the whole break up thing."

"So what did you tell her?"

"That we didn't have sleepovers any more," Cuddy said, shaking her head.

"A pity," House said.

Cuddy ignored him.

"And then she said, and I quote, 'Can House be my sleepover friend?'"

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal in 49 states," House said, polishing off the last of his sandwich. "I'm not totally certain about West Virginia."

"Yeah, I told her no. She wasn't very happy. Was this close to a full-on tantrum. I had to bribe her with chocolate chip pancakes."

"Sold out for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes," House sighed. "I thought I was worth more than that to her."

"Gummy bears would've worked, too."

She smiled at House and he smiled back. It was nice to be able to joke with him like this. Things had been so unbelievably tense since the breakup. Even the flirting didn't bother her.

"I guess if I want to finish this before midnight, I should get back to work," House said finally.

"Sure," she said, getting up .

"Maybe one more glass of wine after I'm done?"

"We'll see," she said.

#####

The doorbell rang a second time, and this time it really was Ruth Oldenberg.

She had just come from dinner with friends. She was well-dressed, in a black dress with a plunging neckline and tall black boots. She seemed a little tipsy.

Cuddy handed her the pair of glasses.

"Thanks," Ruth said. "I swear I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to my neck."

Cuddy laughed idly. She wanted to usher Ruth out of the house as quickly as possible—and not just because she had been staring at House last night like he was a giant ice cream cone that she wanted to lick. If Ruth saw him hanging out with Cuddy on a Saturday night, it would start rumors.

Ruth, of course, was in the mood to chat.

"I was surprised to see House at the party last night," she said.

"Yeah, we're trying to do the friend thing," Cuddy shrugged.

"How's that working out for you?" Ruth chuckled.

"So far, so good. It's in the preliminary stages."

"And how do you handle that overwhelming urge to jump his bones?"

"Ruth!"

"I'm just saying. The man is very doable."

Ruth always did have a way with words.

"Remarkably, I'm able to control myself," Cuddy said.

"Control yourself around what?" House said. He had emerged from the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder.

"Why hello there," Ruth said, raising her eyebrows at Cuddy.

"It's not what you think," Cuddy said.

"I was just fixing her pipes," House said, winking.

Ruth's eyebrows remained raised.

"I have. . .a leaky faucet," Cuddy sputtered. (Why did everything having to do with plumbing sound vaguely dirty all of a sudden?)

"I had no idea you did pipe work," Ruth said to House. "My Bob is completely useless in that department. I may need to call you in for reinforcement."

"Anytime ma'am," House said.

Oh for God's sake. . .

"And I hope you remember what we talked about at the party," Ruth purred at him.

"Like it was just yesterday," House said. "Probably because it was just yesterday."

"About that," Ruth said. "There's something I want to show you in my car. Lisa, can I borrow your plumber for a second?"

"He's all yours," Cuddy said, trying to sound casual. It was truly stomach-churning to watch Ruth flirting with him like this.

Ruth gave Cuddy a breezy kiss goodnight. "Thanks again for a great party yesterday," she said. She held up the glasses and shook them in the air. "I'm going to start putting a tracking device on these things."

She opened the door.

"You coming, House?"

"BRB," House said to Cuddy and followed Ruth dutifully to her car.

Cuddy immediately went the window to see what Ruth was showing him. She hid behind the curtains so they couldn't see her.

She watched as Ruth reached into the car's glove compartment and pulled out something—a rag? a shirt? She squinted: a silk scarf. She draped it around his neck.

All the while, she was leaning against the car, giggling like a schoolgirl. House was hovering over her, one hand resting on the car's roof. He was clearly amused by her advances. Then, smiling, she pulled him toward her by the scarf and—what the hell?—gave him a kiss.

It wasn't a full-on makeout session or anything like that. More like a tiny taste, a down payment .

And the thing was, he kissed back. She couldn't tell from her window, but there might've been a little tongue. Cuddy closed the curtain in disgust.

A few seconds later, she heard Ruth drive off. House came back to the door. He had taken the scarf and shoved in deeply into his back pocket.

"I'm ready for that second glass of wine," he said brightly.

"Fuck off," Cuddy said.

"What?"

"Fuck off, House. Go home."

"What? Why?"

"I saw you! I saw you kiss Ruth Oldenburg."

"That? That was nothing. C'mon Cuddy." He tried to step into the house, but she blocked his entry. "She's crazy as a loon. I was just indulging her."

"From here, it looked like you were indulging yourself."

"So?"

"So?"

"Yeah, so what? What do you care if I kiss Ruth Oldenburg, or anyone else for that matter? You dumped me, remember?"

"And it's moments like this that remind me why."

"I can't believe that bothered you."

"That's because you're missing the sensitivity chip, House," Cuddy said.

"You're actually jealous," he said, sounding stunned.

"If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her," Cuddy said.

"What? You think I want to fuck her?"

"Do what you want House," Cuddy said.

He grabbed her arm, forced his way into the entranceway.

"Let go," she said.

"I don't want to fuck her," he said. His voice was gentle now. But he was still holding her arm.

"I only want to fuck you," he said.

"House. . ."

He blinked at her.

"I don't want to kiss her," he said. He leaned in, his face was inches away from hers. He parted her mouth with his own. "I only want to kiss you."

"Stop it, House," she said weakly.

"I don't want to touch her," he said. He took his hand, slowly caressed throat, her clavicle, then traced the outline of her breasts. "I only want to touch you."

"Stop," she said. But she was breathing heavily. She was turned on and they both knew it.

"I don't want to be inside her," he said quietly. He reached between her legs, then down her underpants—groaned a bit when he felt how slick she was. "I only want to be inside you."

"Fuck you," she said, but now her lips had met his and she was grinding against him and there was no turning back for either of them.

"There's no other woman for me, Cuddy. . ." he murmured in her ear. "There's only you. There's always only been you."

Of course, a big part of her knew that already. It had never been about what he wanted. It had always been about what she wanted.

And right now, she wanted him.

#####

She woke up a few hours later. House was lying next to her, asleep, one arm wrapped across her.

"Wake up, House," she whispered.

"Wha?"

"Wake up."

He opened his eyes, looked at her.

"Hi," he said.

"You gotta go."

"What time is it?" he asked, still not fully awake.

"4 am. I don't want Rachel to see you. It'll just confuse her."

"Oh," he said. He reluctantly got out bed, started pulling his clothing off the floor. The room was still dark. He went to put on a pair of jeans then realized they were Cuddy's. He threw them back on the floor, found his. Ruth's scarf was still poking out of the back pocket.

"What was up with that scarf, anyway?" Cuddy said, watching as he got dressed.

"What scarf?"

"The scarf that slutty-slutty Ruth Oldenburg gave you."

"Oh, it was supposed to smell like her perfume or something, to remind me of her. . . do you want it?"

"No thanks," she said, but she had to smile. If Ruth only knew. . .

House leaned over the bed, kissed her.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she said. "Just be quiet on your way out, okay?"

"Got it," he said.

He paused in the doorway.

"We okay?" he said softly.

She looked at him.

"We're good, House. Still friends."

He gave a small, slightly disappointed smile.

She heard him hobble down the hall. She could tell he was trying not to make too much noise with his cane.

She was drifting back to sleep when she heard it:

"Howse!"

"Hiya kid."


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddy had her usual hellish Monday morning of meetings and paperwork, so she wasn't able to poke her head into House's office until about noon.

He was, thankfully, alone and staring off into space, which meant he was either daydreaming or in the midst of an important breakthrough on his current case.

"Gotta sec?" she said.

He looked up, blinked, as though he had just woken up from a nap.

Definitely daydreaming.

"Hi," he said.

"I just wanted to thank you for how well you handled the Rachel situation the other night," Cuddy said.

"She bought that, huh?"

"That you stopped by our house at 4 am because you desperately needed to pick up your toolbox?" Cuddy chuckled. "Hook, line, and sinker."

"She's very trusting," House said. "Unlike those other pre-school cynics."

"Well, I appreciate it. . ."

House smiled, looked at her in a searching sort of way, and she wondered, for a brief second, if he was about to bring up the fact that they'd had sex.

Of course he wasn't. When it came to discussing his feelings, House pretty much lived at the corner of Denial and Avoidance streets.

"So . . ." she said.

"So . . ." he said, imitating her sing-song tone of voice.

"About Saturday night. . ."

"Right. . . That. We really don't have to talk about that."

"And yet we do."

He leaned back in his chair. "You're the boss, boss."

"It can't happen again."

"Of course not"

"I'm serious."

"So am I," he said, in a mock grave tone.

"Here's the thing, House. I had a great time."

"Me too," he said quickly.

Cuddy glanced at the differential room to make sure no one was around. It was empty.

"But we can't do the friends-with-benefits thing," she whispered.

"And why not exactly?" he whispered back.

"Because it'll just get confusing. And not just for Rachel. For me. And for you, too."

"I'm not confused in the slightest," House said.

"I don't want to get back together, House," Cuddy said firmly.

"I know you don't," he said.

"And I just think there's too much baggage for us to do casual sex. There's nothing casual about us. Never has been. Never will be."

"Fair enough," House said. "But allow me to make a counter argument."

"Shocker."

"For all the problems in our relationship—and I'm willing to admit that we had a few and I'll even go one step farther in admitting that maybe I was the cause of some of these problems. . ."

"Big of you."

"Sex was never one of our problems," House said, looking at her bluntly.

"No it wasn't."

"We're good at it," House said.

"True."

"And we're both single, right?"

"I believe so. Unless, of course, you followed up on that Ruth Oldenburg proposal . . ."

House ignored her.

"And since we're both single, and since we've already agreed to try the friendship thing, why not also continue to do one of the things we do best, while we can? If one of us starts seeing someone else, we cut it off. No more sex. Until then, why deprive ourselves?"

"So as you see it, it's almost like we owe it to ourselves," Cuddy said, trying not to laugh.

"Exactly!"

"Very compelling argument."

"Thank you. I've given it a lot of thought."

"I'm sure you have."

"What do you say?"

"Not happening, House. But A for effort."

"Crap."

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Then looked back up at her, in a defeated sort of way.

"Lunch with me and Wilson in the cafeteria in 20?" he said.

"Oooh, a threesome!" said Cuddy.

"Now that's just mean."

#######

About a week later, Cuddy was working late on a Friday night, when she wandered into House's office.

She slumped into his chair sideways, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair, and kicked off her pumps.

"Oh God, this is literally the first time I've sat in 8 hours," she sighed.

"Rough day?" he asked, looking up from his file.

"You don't want to know," she said.

"As long as it wasn't my fault," he said.

"For once, the problem had nothing to do with you," she chuckled.

"The wonders never cease."

Cuddy rubbed her temples and briefly closed her eyes. House went back to his work. The silence between them was comfortable, familiar.

"You getting out of here anytime soon?" she asked finally.

"Sure," he said, closing the file. "What did you have in mind?"

"I dunno. Drinks? Rachel is spending the night with my mom."

Why on earth had she told him that?

"Drinks . . .or sex?" he said.

Busted.

"Drinks first. Then. . . we'll see," she said sheepishly.

"I'm right behind you."

#######

They didn't go to Sullivan's, the regular PPTH hangout, but instead went to a quiet tavern several miles away from the hospital.

They sat in a corner booth that was completely dark, save for a small red lamp on the table.

There was some pretense of small talk—gossip about the guests at Cuddy's party; a brief discussion of her hellish day—but it was mostly futile.

Anyone who was seeing them for the first time, might've assumed they were brand new lovers on an early date.

Basically, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

First, they sat so close that their hands and arms kept touching by accident. Then House began absent-mindedly stroking her bare arm with his thumb—and Cuddy found herself marveling over the fact that the tendons of her wrist could be such an erogenous zone.

All that could have been seen as friendly—they hadn't really crossed a line yet. But then, she lifted his hand to her mouth and allowed her lips to graze his palm and he began migrating his hand over her mouth and she was kissing his hand, leaving it wet from her lips and tongue.

Then he pushed the hair out of her eyes and, staring at her, caressed her face and she curled toward him, like a cat leaning into his touch, and then—oh fuck it—they were making out, right there in the booth.

"We should probably. . ." House said.

"Yeah," Cuddy said, getting up.

For a couple who were supposedly just friends, they were sure having a lot of sex together.

#####

"Wilson, where do you stand on the whole friends-with-benefits thing?" Cuddy asked.

They were drinking the hospital's poor excuse for coffee out of styrofoam cups in the employee lounge.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Just a hypothetical question."

"Let me guess, for your good friends, Louse and Duddy."

"It's possible that House and I may have had sex once—or 5 times—over the past couple of weeks."

"Bad idea."

"I know, right?" she said firmly. Then with less certainty: "Remind me again why?"

"Because someone's going to get hurt. Probably him. He's still madly in love with you."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would."

She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee.

"But let me run this past you," she said. "House and I have mutually decided to be just friends. We're both single. So why not enjoy one of our, uh, favorite pastimes together, while we can?"

Wilson looked at her.

"House, you've grown breasts."

"Okay, yes, that was his argument. But it's somewhat irrefutable."

"It's complete bullshit," Wilson said. "House doesn't want to be just friends with you. He doesn't even want to be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants to be your boyfriend again. And he just figures, the closer he is to you, the better his chances are."

"Wait. . .he told you that?"

"No. He hasn't said anything. But I'm not a moron."

"Neither am I!" she sputtered.

"Cuddy, when it comes to your relationship, both you and House kind of are morons."

"Gee thanks."

"You're asking for my advice and here it is: No more sex with House unless you want to take him back. It won't end well."

######

In the end, it wasn't Wilson's little pep talk that stopped House and Cuddy from having sex (they had cramped but hot sex in the back seat of his car, on her office couch after hours, and once, against a metal exam room table, which was completely ill-advised as it left a rather painful red mark on House's back). It was the fact that Cuddy actually began dating a nice guy. His name was Larry Summers and he was a divorced architect with two sons in grade school. They met a dinner party and hit it off—they shared a passion for the films of Eric Roehmer and the faux-naif art of Joan Miró—and went on a few dates. He was boyishly handsome, with wavy brown hair and a gentle smile. After the third date, he kissed her goodnight on her porch and it was a soft, sweet kiss and she decided she needed to tell House.

"Before you go, we have to talk," she said. They were in her office. House had just gotten approval for a brain biopsy and was rushing out before she changed her mind.

He stopped in the doorway.

"What's up?" he said, sounding concerned.

"I've met somebody," she said.

He frowned.

"I see," he said.

"His name is Larry, he's an architect. We have our fourth date on Friday. . .so you know what this means."

"No more bruises on my back," House said.

"Something like that," Cuddy said.

"Okay," House said, keeping a poker face.

"Okay?"

"Okay, that was the deal. I created the terms, so I'm not going to renege on them."

"Well, I appreciate your respect for our arrangement." She felt strangely deflated by his reaction. She was expecting him to try to talk her out of it.

"No problem," he said.

"So. . still friends?"

"Still friends," he said. He nodded curtly at her and left.

######

After their fourth date, they kissed goodnight and Larry asked if he could come inside and Cuddy made up some lame excuse about having to get up early the next morning.

"Are you sure?" he said, with a somewhat pathetic smile. He gave her another kiss.

She kissed him back, thinking that his aftershave smelled nice and that it was pleasant to kiss someone who didn't give her a rug burn for a change. But still. . .

"It's just that. . .I guess there's . . . something you need to know about me," she said.

She proceeded to tell Larry about House.

She explained that she had just emerged from a long, complicated, and sometimes painful relationship with another doctor at the hospital, a man she had known for over 20 years. She mentioned that she and House were trying to be friends. (She conveniently neglected to mention the "now without benefits!" part.)

"It's just a little too soon for me," she said.

Larry was a nice guy, so when he said he understood, he meant it. But he wasn't a saint, which was how he came up with the idea to fix House up with his colleague Phyllis. He figured if House had someone in his life, Cuddy would finally get over him.

They were on their sixth date, at Yuki's, a little sushi joint around the corner from the hospital, when he made the proposal. (House hated sushi. "They've invented this thing called fire," he used to say, whenever Cuddy suggested they eat at Yuki's. "It cooks things.")

"Is House interested in dating?" Larry asked.

"Dating?"

"Yeah. . . I have a friend. Her name is Phyllis. She works at the firm. She and her husband split a year ago and she's ready to start dating. She's a very nice lady. I mentioned House to her and she seemed interested."

Cuddy laughed.

"If she's nice, I would never subject her to House," she said.

"I mean, she's not a pushover or anything like that. She's smart. Has a great sense of humor. And she's something of a babe, too," he added.

"Wow. If she's so great, how come you never dated her?" Cuddy teased.

"We work together," Larry said, taking a sip of sake. "I learned a long time ago never to date a co-worker."

_Now_ you tell me, Cuddy thought, almost laughing out loud.

"It's just that House can be a little hard to deal with when you first meet him," she explained.

"So let's ease into it. We can go out as a foursome. See if they click."

"A double date?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"And she knows about his leg?"

"She doesn't care about stuff like that," Larry said.

Cuddy wrinkled her nose. Maybe it would be good if House started seeing someone. As it was, they were kind of stuck in relationship purgatory.

"I guess I can ask," she said skeptically. "But I wouldn't hold my breath. House really isn't the blind date type."

Larry smiled, speared a piece of fish with his chopsticks.

"Have you tried the yellowtail?" he asked. "It's amazing."

#####

House was nothing if not unpredictable. He agreed to the double date.

They chose an Italian restaurant called Giuseppe's.

House was the last to arrive. He was wearing the same jacket and tie he had worn to Cuddy's cocktail party. His hair was actually combed. Cuddy was once again surprised that he had made an effort.

As for Phyllis, she was pretty, as advertised, with thick dark hair, flashing brown eyes, and olive-toned skin. She looked Italian, or Greek, Cuddy couldn't tell. She had the kind of figure that House liked—which is to say, she had tits and ass like Cuddy.

Introductions were made and House had to force himself to stop sizing up Larry and concentrate on his "date."

"Lisa tells me you're a talented pianist," Larry said to House, after they ordered the wine.

"I can bang out Heart and Soul," House said with a shrug.

"He's being modest, " Cuddy said. "He's great."

"What kind of music do you like to play?" Phyllis asked.

"Jazz, blues, a little classical. Whatever I'm in the mood for," House said.

"That's the kind of music I like, too," Phyllis said. "Are you an Oscar Peterson fan?"

"I love Oscar Peterson," House said. For the first time, he really looked at her.

"I. . .like jazz, too," Cuddy said, feeling lame.

House coughed loudly.

"What? I do like it!" Cuddy said.

"I seem to recall someone falling asleep at the Blue Note Club—twice," House said.

"I did not!"

"Please. You were snoring. You got drool on my shirt. I had to practically carry you out of there."

"I was tired," Cuddy protested. "The set didn't start until almost midnight."

House smiled at her.

"I love the Blue Note Club," Phyllis said, hoping to break it up. "I could never get Jack to take me there."

Jack was Phyllis's ex husband.

"We should go there one night," Phyllis said to House.

"Uh, yeah, we should," he said, But he was still looking at Cuddy.

Larry side-eyed House, put an arm across Cuddy's shoulder.

Food was ordered—and a second bottle of chianti came out.

"So you have a little girl," Phyllis said to Cuddy.

"Rachel. She's 3," Cuddy said, beaming. She whipped out her cell phone and showed Phyllis a picture of Rachel standing next to a baby goat at a petting zoo.

"She's adorable," Phyllis said.

"Do you have any kids?" Cuddy asked her.

"No. . .never really appealed to me, to be honest. I guess I'm just not the maternal type."

"I doubt that," Cuddy said.

"You'd be surprised. I'm too selfish. I just want to be able to pick up and go anywhere I want, when I want, without having another human being to be responsible for."

"I understand that," Cuddy said. "Frankly, I wish more people would be honest with themselves and acknowledge that maybe they shouldn't have children. But you really don't know until you have one of your own. It changes. . .everything."

"What about you, Greg?" asked Larry. "You want kids?"

"No. I'm not a fan of kids," House said. He looked at Cuddy: "I like a kid."

Cuddy smiled at him.

"Rachel and House are close," she told the table. She turned to House: "Did I tell you that she is now the proud owner of her very own Fisher Price tool set?"

"What?" He tried not to look overly pleased. "No, you didn't tell me that."

"Rachel saw House with a tool kit and became obsessed," Cuddy explained.

"Good thing she didn't see me with my Medieval torture set," he said.

There was a slightly appalled silence.

"He's kidding," Cuddy said finally.

"Speaking of which, who wants to hear a joke?" said Larry. He had a knack for diffusing potentially awkward situations. "So Seymour and Selma Goldberg get divorced after 75 years of marriage. The judge says, 'Why get a divorce now?' and they said, 'We wanted to wait until the kids were dead.'"

Everyone laughed, even House.

"I heard a good joke yesterday," Cuddy said.

"Oh no," House said.

"What?"

"Cuddy can't tell a joke," he told the table.

"Shut up. I can too."

"No, she's hopeless."

"House doesn't think I'm funny."

"That's because you're not."

"Why don't we let Phyllis and Larry be the judges?"

"The floor is yours, Shecky."

Phyllis and Larry exchanged a look. Cuddy told her joke. It had to do with a bunch of old ladies playing poker. When she got to the punch line, nobody laughed.

House rested his chin in his hand looking amused.

"That joke killed today at the staff meeting," Cuddy muttered.

"When people who are on your payroll laugh at your jokes, it doesn't count," House said.

"You're mean," she said.

"Awww, don't pout," House said.

Cuddy hit him.

"Ouch!" House said.

"Who wants dessert?" Larry said.

######

Before dessert, House excused himself from the table. He was gone for so long that Cuddy decided to go check on him.

She found him out back, near the dumpster, smoking a cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" she said, coming up behind him, startling him.

"Since I stopped taking Vicodin," he said.

"House, you quit Vicodin? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wanted to make sure it would stick."

"I'm so proud of you," she said. "Of course now I have to get you to quit smoking."

"Want one?"

"No!"

She looked at him for a second. "Okay."

He pulled out a Camel, cupped his hands over the cigarette and lit it for her.

Cuddy hadn't smoked since college. She took a puff, coughed a bit.

House laughed.

"God, I wish I had a camera right now," he said.

She took another puff.

"So are you having fun?" she asked.

"It's okay. . .you?"

"Yeah. . .it's . . Phyllis seems nice. Your kind of girl. Likes jazz. Doesn't want kids. A Greg House dream date."

House shrugged, took a drag of his cigarette.

"And Larry seems like a great guy," he said.

"Yeah, he is."

The March air was brisk and Cuddy hadn't brought her jacket. She shivered a bit.

"You cold?" House said.

"It's chilly out here."

He let the cigarette dangle from his lips and rubbed Cuddy's arms and shoulders to keep her warm.

"Here, get under my jacket," he said. He opened his jacket and she kind of climbed in. He had his arms around her and she was pressed up against the warmth of his chest..

"You feel good," she said.

"So do you" he said.

In unison, they both dropped their cigarettes and started kissing, somewhat ravenously. They were so lost in the moment, they didn't notice that Phyllis and Larry had come out the back door and were standing there, their arms folded, watching them.

Larry cleared his throat.

They stopped kissing. Cuddy extricated herself from House's jacket.

"Whoops," House said.

"Shit," Cuddy said.

"Wow. This is so not suprising," Larry said.

"No, not even a little bit," Phyllis said.

"Here's a thought," Larry said. "Why don't you two just fuck or get married or kill each other—I don't know what. But don't drag other people into your little duet of dysfunction. It's no fun at all."

"It really isn't," Phyllis agreed.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy said, feeling ashamed. "I don't know what came over me."

"Seems pretty clear to me," Larry said.

"For the record, you guys are perfect for each other," Phyllis said, somewhat derisively.

"We're out of here, by the way," Larry said. "Lisa, have a nice life. House, I'd say it was nice to meet you but that would be a lie."

And they left.

Cuddy and House looked at each other guiltily.

Finally, she shrugged.

"My place?" she asked.

####

At 4 am that morning, House got out of bed, began tip-toeing around the room to collect his stuff.

Cuddy opened her eyes.

"Wait," she said groggily. "Come back."

"Really?" he said.

"Yeah. I'm cold. I need your body."

He hopped back into bed quickly.

"Better?"

"No! Your feet are cold."

"Sorry."

He kissed her on the forehead, put his arms around her.

"Better," she murmured.

They fell back asleep.

House was awakened to the sound of a 3-year-old shouting his name.

"Howse is here! Howse is here!"

Rachel climbed on the bed, began jumping up and down on it.

"Yay! Yay! Yay!"

"Ugggh," Cuddy said.

"Rachel, inside voice," House said, putting the pillow over his ear.

"It's a sleepover! It's a sleepover!"

She collapsed onto the bed with a thud and squirmed her way under the covers between them. But she couldn't stay still. First she climbed all over House and then she climbed all over mommy and then she decided to steal their pillows because they weren't waking up fast enough and then she made an awesome bed fort with the pillows and the blanket and then she started jumping up and down again.

"Who wants pancakes?" Cuddy said, deciding she was awake.

"I do!" said Rachel.

"I do," said House.


End file.
